NEUMANN LOOKED across the dining room. The windows were scatter-crusted with wind-driven snow while outside the trees bowed under their white winter weight. Wolf padded around the room, his nose grazing the floor. Every now and then he would look up to check on Neumann’s well-being and Neumann would see the hound’s tongue lolling from the side of his mouth, his eyes jolly with anticipation. Wolf didn’t care about the future, or the past. He looked no further ahead than the prospect of scraps from the table.
Neumann heard the footsteps of the auxiliaries approaching and straightened in his seat. He would exude confidence.
‘Good morning, ladies,’ he said, standing.
Werth, the plain one, had oiled her mousy hair so that it hung over her pasty face like something dead. Beck, at least, looked pretty this morning.
‘Good morning, Herr Obersturmführer.’
They spoke in unison.
‘Well?’ he asked, when they had sat down.
His question came out like one of Wolf’s barks. He should have let them speak first – relax a little. The two auxiliaries looked at each other and he was certain something passed between them. He wondered what they’d been discussing before they came into the room. As if he didn’t know.
Wolf, meanwhile, having completed his examination of the room, came over to Anna Beck and, to her embarrassment, buried his long nose in her lap, ferreting around as if he thought something might be buried there. Beck pushed at the dog’s head but she was too nervous, not forceful enough. Neumann spoke sharply to the dog: ‘Wolf, get over here.’
Wolf left the poor woman alone and circled the table to take his position alongside Neumann’s chair, his head angled towards him and his eyes alert. Neumann could see how frightened the SS woman had been. He felt some sympathy for her.
‘He’s a pet, Fräulein Beck. He’s not one of the other dogs. The ones at the camp. There’s no need to be nervous of him. He’s affectionate.’
Beck said nothing. Neumann pulled the napkin out of its holder and examined it – he would have demanded explanations for its condition not that long ago, but what would be the point now? He’d only get the same old excuses – the soap was shit, the napkins were old. There was a war on.
‘Say something, for God’s sake,’ Neumann said.
The auxiliaries looked at him with wide eyes. If he was honest, his outburst had come as a surprise to him as well.
‘We were talking about the weather, Herr Obersturmführer,’ Werth said, her gaze avoiding his. ‘It snowed last night.’
‘I can see it has snowed – I’ve just walked the length of the building, past window after window – all I’ve seen is snow. You can barely see out the windows for snow.’
‘Fräulein Werth didn’t mean to be disrespectful, Herr Obersturmführer.’
Was Beck whimpering now? He found his irritation was increasing. He should have left Wolf to carry on.
‘I didn’t think she was being disrespectful. If I did think such a thing’ – he looked hard at Werth – ‘there would be consequences.’
He paused, even more irritated with them – and also himself.
‘I’m only surprised you didn’t hear the guns last night. I would have thought any sane person would have been taking about them. About the Russian offensive which has just begun.’
Beck’s eyes were red now and she began to sniff. He found himself scowling. Why should she be crying? All Beck would have to do was pack her clothes and move to a new posting. All she had to do was as she was told.
‘Have you spoken to the camp?’ he asked, knowing that they would have been on to their fellow telephonists there. ‘Do you have any news from the Front? Something useful to tell me?’
Werth nodded.
‘The radio says that our men are repelling the invader, Herr Obersturmführer – the girls at the camp know nothing more than that. Not yet, at least.’
‘I see.’ A muscle was twitching in his cheek – he lifted a finger to hold it steady. Outside, four of the women prisoners were clearing the snow. He wondered what had happened to the fifth. If Peichl had murdered her, he would give him to Jäger and have done with it.
‘Herr Obersturmführer, the girls at the camp . . .’ Werth paused. ‘They say that the prisoners are to be marched to the west. That the first columns will be leaving tomorrow.’
He must instil confidence in them – that was his duty as their superior officer.
‘They are needed elsewhere.’
‘They say some of the officers have left without permission,’ Beck said.
Werth spoke in a voice barely above a whisper.
‘They told the girls they don’t want to end up with a hangman’s noose around their necks, or worse.’
Neumann wondered if she was aware how her hands were twisting around her throat – as if she were making a noose for herself with her fingers.
‘What about us? What will they do to us?’ Beck’s voice was shrill and her knuckles white around the spoon she held in her hand.
He wished he hadn’t come to breakfast – he wished he’d gone straight to his office.
‘The girls at the camp say they’ve begun to evacuate German civilians from Krakow and Katowitz. That the same will be happening here soon.’
Neumann slammed the table. The crockery and cutlery lifted as one, then crashed back down. Nothing broke. That was something.
‘That is enough.’
He felt ashamed of himself. Why shouldn’t they ask such questions? Except that if everyone was always asking questions, what kind of order could there be?
‘I will call the Commandant. Until we have orders we proceed as always. No doubt our men will counter-attack today or tomorrow. A battle goes back and forth before the final victory is achieved. Do you understand?’
The door opened behind him as he spoke and, without looking, Neumann knew it must be Jäger. He should have cut his throat at the sink.
‘Quite right, Neumann.’
They made to rise, to acknowledge his superior rank.
‘No need for that on my account. Stay seated, please.’
Jäger walked around the table to sit opposite him. Wolf went and placed his head against Jäger’s elbow. The SS man reached back, rubbing the dog between the ears. Wolf’s eyes hooded with pleasure – the treacherous beast.
Jäger’s complexion was nearly as pale as Beck’s.
‘Did you sleep well, Herr Hauptsturmführer?’
Jäger nodded absently before turning to face the table. ‘I would like to taste real coffee again,’ he said, sniffing at the coffee pot.
Anna Beck sniffed. Neumann hoped she wasn’t going to cry again.
‘What will happen, Herr Hauptsturmführer?’ Werth asked. ‘Now that the Russians have attacked?’
Neumann glared at her, but she was oblivious. She only had eyes for the tanker in his black uniform, the silver badges on his collar and shoulders and his calm, grey eyes. The Hauptsturmführer put his hands on the table and turned them palm-upwards, lifting one and then the other.
‘To you? I don’t know,’ he said. ‘But I’m not certain it will matter much. Human beings are insignificant as individuals, don’t you agree?’
Fat tears rolled unwiped down Anna Beck’s pretty face. Outside, in the laneway, Peichl began to shout and swear at the women – threatening them with the foulest depravities.
Neumann looked over at Jäger, who returned his gaze and smiled.